“The tree leaves rustled like that noise e-books make when you turn the page.”

“Dream Song:In the heavens A noise, Like the rustling of the trees.”

“Didn't they like you? Didn't they, like you, need a heart that was a book with no last page? Turn the leaves.”

“There comes a time when you have to choose between turning the page and closing the book”

“How do you press a wildflower into the pages of an e-book?”

“What was that sound? That rustling noise? It could be heard in the icy North, where there was not one leaf left upon one tree, it could be heard in the South, where the crinoline skirts lay deep in the mothballs, as still and quiet as wool. It could be heard from sea to shining sea, o'er purple mountains' majesty and upon the fruited plain. What was it? Why, it was the rustle of thousands of bags of potato chips being pulled from supermarket racks; it was the rustle of plastic bags being filled with beer and soda pop and quarts of hard liquor; it was the rustle of newspaper pages fanning as readers turned eagerly to the sports section; it was the rustle of currency changing hands as tickets were scalped for forty times their face value and two hundred and seventy million dollars were waged upon one or the other of two professional football teams. It was the rustle of Super Bowl week...”